


You Make It Easy (This Love Thing)

by ladyflowdi



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Romance, but super cute PWP which is a thing this fandom does and which I am in love with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22070650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyflowdi/pseuds/ladyflowdi
Summary: David is the vainest creature who has ever walked this Earth, and so the fact that Patrick can’t control himself around David is the most intensely flattering thing that’s ever happened to him.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 89
Kudos: 661





	You Make It Easy (This Love Thing)

**Author's Note:**

> Schitt's Creek is literally the best thing on television right now, and I have fallen face-first into this fandom. The fanfic is amazing. The people are amazing. The fandom is amazing. Go and watch the show and then come join us in loving these two boys.

The thing about Patrick is that he’s the most adorable little button of a man David has ever had the good fortune to come across. This fact does not make him less of a shit.

Patrick is mean in a way David didn’t know he could flat-out adore, because in his mind _mean_ has always equated _cruelty_. David’s lived a life full of little cruelties and not-so-little cruelties, from people who have chipped away at the inside of him until he was all jagged pieces that don’t quite fit together the way they should. He’s never met anyone like Patrick. Patrick drinks David’s extremely expensive and hard to obtain Vietnamese noni juice while teasing him mercilessly, and then gets to his knees and puts that sloppy mouth to good use. Patrick doesn’t understand the aesthetic behind David’s Givenchy florals and _laughs at him_ when David weeps over the perfection of Ariana Grande’s _Arivenchy_ campaign video, and then buys huge bouquets of white gypsophilas for David’s carefully curated window display at the store. Patrick doesn’t take a single iota of his shit, as evidenced by the horrific (and slightly too-on-the-nose) _toilet plunger_ incident that still gives David nightmares. Patrick sends him monthly anniversary gifts that are each more ridiculous than the last, from a white teddy bear with _You Are Beary Special To Me_ monogrammed on one foot, to a single red rose (the card had said ‘The rose is great, but the stem is fantastic’, and David will never admit to how hard it made him laugh), to the Cookie That Shall Not Be Named.

Patrick is the opposite of cruel. No one had ever cared enough about David to say _I’m sorry_ in so many ways. Patrick trolls the shit out of him, and makes him laugh, and makes him feel safe and unafraid and whole. Patrick is good to him, and good _for_ him, and David – David is in fucking pieces because he’s never let anyone in so deep.

Literally.

“Oh God,” he hears himself moan, and that’s a thing, that’s an _out of body thing_ because it comes from so far away, like he’s listening to a guy squeal like a dying moose as he’s getting fucked at some midtown dump of a bar, which ironically has never actually happened to him but in this moment he knows exactly what it would sound like because _David is the dying moose_. How Patrick isn’t laughing he’ll never know, because the cries coming from him are just embarrassing, _but he can’t stop_. The salt of Patrick’s come is still slick at the corners of his mouth, and Patrick keeps chasing it like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted, but even that is secondary to Patrick’s fingers.

David should have kept his mouth shut because it’s too much, it’s too much knowing how much Patrick wants him, how much Patrick wants to give him. He’d said it in passing, weeks ago, the kind of sweet, vanilla dirty talk they get up to in giggling little moments when they’re necking in the stock room, touching each other over their clothes like teenagers. He never thought Patrick had fucking rolodexed it, but David forgets sometimes that his boyfriend is leagues smarter than him and literally thrives on Excel spreadsheets. That kind of enthusiasm, paired with Patrick’s almost god-level ability to make David come, is what’s gotten him into this predicament.

No matter how much David’s brain is screeching in embarrassment at being taken care of like this, the part of him that he keeps hidden can’t stop stretching into it, shivering into it.

“People – oh God – people forget that it can be a thing by itself, not just the pre-show warmup,” he’d whispered feverishly between kisses, Patrick’s fingers in his hair angling him just right to account for Patrick’s height and David’s shoulders and the stack of boxes next to them.

“Yeah?” Patrick had gasped, teeth in his neck way above the neckline of his sweater, but David wasn’t like Patrick, he wanted Patrick’s ownership _fucking all over_ so people would know he was wanted, so people would know he was _taken_. “You like it, sweetheart? Fingers inside you?”

“Yes,” David had said like a confession, panting into Patrick’s cheek. “Not just fingers. I have toys, things that I – I love.”

The way Patrick had groaned, uncontrollable and ripped out of him – the way he’d shoved both hands down under the waist of David’s skirted pants. The way he’d said, “You won’t need toys with me, David,” and then – and then squeezed David’s ass, hard, like he couldn’t help digging his fingertips into each ass cheek, then down, down to stroke right over where David had wanted him most. Patrick had touched his ass before but nothing like that moment, the orgasm punched out of him so sharply he’d left a perfect crescent mark of teeth in Patrick’s shoulder.

David should have recognized the moment for what it was. Patrick’s number one goal during sex has been to make David come his brains out, and while David has had a lot of sex in his life it pales in comparison to what he has with Patrick, because the sex David and Patrick have is gold star, A+ fucking _outstanding_. Sex with Patrick is so hot that there are times he feels like he’s suffocating under it, under all the feelings it brings up in him, only to have all of his doubts and fears and insecurities soothed away by Patrick’s mouth, his fingers, his cock. He’d been fucked but never _fucked_ , not like Patrick fucks him, like he’s the center of Patrick’s universe.

Patrick is unselfish almost to the point of fault. David has literally never had sex like this, didn’t even know sex could _be_ like this, that someone could get off on getting David off. And Patrick _did._ David doesn’t flatter himself that he’s particularly good-looking, at least not at this point in his life – he weighs the most he ever has, he hasn’t waxed since he came to this shithole of a town, and while his hygiene game is and will forever be completely on point, he hasn’t been able to afford his La Mer cream in over a year and he’s well aware what his once pampered skin is suffering. Add to that the severe depression and anxiety he’s experienced since he got here, and the extra lines it’s put on his face, and it’s safe to say that David is a little bit of a mess. He doesn’t know how Patrick finds him even slightly attractive, but it’s clear to anyone with eyeballs that Patrick doesn’t just find him attractive – he thinks David is _hot_. He thinks David is so hot that when he’d been a baby gay taking his first wobbly steps, he’d come in his pants every time they’d necked. He thinks David is so hot that all it takes to turn him on is for David to stroke a fingertip along the hinge of his jaw _just so,_ because Patrick has equated that tender little spot with cocksucking. He thinks David is so hot that he gets overwhelmed when they’re having sex, and nine times out of ten David’s orgasm will trigger Patrick’s, sometimes before he can even get his clothes off.

David is the vainest creature who has ever walked this Earth, and so the fact that Patrick can’t control himself around David is the most intensely flattering thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s also mortifying. David is thirty-five years old and has spent a life being used up by the any pretty thing that came his way, and it shows. He should not be anyone’s sexual ideal, but somehow against all odds he’s Patrick’s. And _that_ is the single most terrifying and humbling thing that has ever happened to him.

They’ve been at it for hours. Ray was gone for the weekend to a realtor’s conference in Oak Ridge, and it’s just as well because over the four months they’ve been having sex, Patrick has earned a master’s degree in making David come. David no longer has the ability to be quiet while Patrick practices his art.

David has two inches of height on Patrick, easy, and probably outweighs him by fifteen pounds. It doesn’t matter one fucking bit, because when Patrick takes him to bed he carries himself like a mountain. He’s built like a truck, Patrick – thick arms muscled from baseball, thighs like tree trunks, a cock much bigger than his frame would suggest, and a body so solid that David can’t move him when Patrick finally pins him down. It shouldn’t be so hot, but oh God, it’s the hottest thing David has ever felt, to be held down and made to _take_.

“Please,” he gasps again, and Patrick groans into his throat.

David has no idea how this even happened, but Patrick’s a sneaky little shit when he wants to be. The evening had not started like this. Oh, David knew that when Patrick had mentioned oh-so-casually on Wednesday that Ray would be out of town for the next four days, he was really asking if David was up to a sleepover, the kind that had ice cream, the best of Drew Barrymore (starting with _Ever After_ and culminating with the preeminent classic _50 First Dates_ ), and giggly sex. Patrick _loved_ giggly sex, which was great because David also loved giggly sex, because sex was ridiculous and fun and stupid and felt so good and with Patrick it was the best he’d ever had. David was _always_ up for sleepovers, double entendre intended, and David had literally shown up at Ray’s house with his overnight bag, a quart of strawberry ice cream, a supreme pizza (for carbs and strength), and a brand new bottle of his favorite lube imported from Turkey. Patrick had opened the door, grinned, and grabbed him by the sweater to yank him in.

David thought they were going to have giggly sex. He hadn’t realized that his spreadsheet-motivated honey had a _plan._

“Oh my God, Patrick,” he gasps, fingernails raking into Patrick’s shoulders – he doesn’t mean to but he can’t stop, he can’t, _he can’t._

Patrick’s room is hot, it’s so fucking hot, but David doesn’t think it is actually, he thinks it might just be the two of them, the heat they make together. Any day now he’s going to be able to see the steam come up off Patrick’s skin, but the thought washes away when Patrick flexes his fingers _right there_ and David wails and Patrick laughs like the asshole he is but David can’t help it, _he can’t help it_. David’s all pretzeled where they’re lying on their sides, the hollow of his knee up high on Patrick’s arm, his own arms twined around Patrick’s ribs and chest because he can’t stop hanging on, not when it feels like this, but also because Patrick had told him to, whispered into his ear _hold on sweetheart, real tight_. Patrick’s got one arm under David’s neck, holding him there in the hollow of his throat, and the other – the other is down deep between David’s legs, fingering him like a fucking _expert_ , like he’s taking post-doc classes in fingering assholes and David laughs and it sounds hysterical but also like he’s been fingered for eight days and he’s so past the point of needing to come that he’s almost frantic. “Please babe, I’ve been so good. Haven’t I been good?”

“So good,” Patrick groans into his mouth and tags his prostate just like a bastard would, flickering over it fast and hard and David’s hips arch and his back curves and he _howls_ , so loud that when he comes back to himself, shuddering, his throat hurts and Patrick is leaking precome like a sieve, his cock painting David’s belly like some avantgarde art piece by one of the stupid performance artists he used to know in New York. If only they could see him now, shuddering into this powerful little button of a man, who is systematically tearing him apart into his component pieces with nothing but his fingers. “You’re always good, David. So good for me.”

David’s asshole is sensitive. It always has been. He loves when it’s touched, when it’s licked, when it’s fucked, but _this_ , right now, is doing it for him on a level he can’t articulate. Literally no one has cared enough about him to just finger him for hours on end, just because he enjoys it so much. All he’d had to do is mention it in flirty, cute dirty talk, a passing thought weeks ago, and Patrick had tucked it away like ammunition in his single-minded campaign to fuck David’s brains out. David is going crazy, completely fucked open, wild with how swollen and hot his hole is, how the callouses on Patrick’s knuckles feel as they rub the tender edge of his rim, and his _prostate Jesus Christ_. Patrick’s leaking, yes, but David’s cock has been jerking ribbons of precome for what feels like hours, and he’s _covered_ in it, and Patrick is too, and David sobs into Patrick’s throat, and he can feel Patrick smile _motherfucker_ , and Patrick laughs out loud and says into David’s cheek, “That’s not a very nice thing to say to the man pleasuring you, sweetheart.”

“ _Please_ ,” David cries, and fists his fingers in Patrick’s short hair. “Please Patrick, I can’t, I can’t anymore, you have to let me come.”

“Do I?” Patrick says, and David’s hips jerk into a thrust because fuck, fuck, that’s so hot, _that’s so hot,_ Patrick being a shit _is so hot_. “Maybe this is our life now. You in this bed, making a mess of the two of us.”

“Yes, a mess,” David says, and he actually might be crying. “I want to be a mess for you, I want to be messy, I want your come,” and Christ, David loves come, he loves it so much, it was one of the reasons Sebastian stuck around for so long, David’s inability to say _no_ when he’s promised come. Sebastian never made him feel like this, though – safe and loved and seen. It’s okay to beg, because Patrick would never tease him about it, or make fun of him for it, Patrick thinks it’s _hot_ , David knows he does. “Please, Patrick? Please?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen quite that expression on Patrick’s face, though he’s seen it’s cousins, Turned On and Lets Fuck and LOL Good Try. “I’m going to give it to you, sweetheart, I promise I will. Do you trust me?”

“No,” David moans, and Patrick laughs again, little shit that he is, and pulls his fingers free, and oh, oh _no_. “Oh God I meant yes,” he says as Patrick pulls away, pushing the sheets down the bed. “Wait, wait, come back.”

“This is a gorgeous look for you,” Patrick murmurs, stroking his hands down David’s flanks, his hips, his thighs. “You’re so beautiful, David. Roll over, okay?”

“No,” he moans again, because his hole is tingling like crazy and he could come just from this, he just needs a little more and he’ll be there. “Are you going to fuck me now?”

“Nope,” Patrick says, and David whines and rolls over, and only jerks a little when Patrick grabs him by the hips and gets him up on his knees because _manhandling_ , bulletproof kink.

And then Patrick, his sweet little button of a boyfriend, pulls David’s cock back between his legs and blows him.

David elbows come out from under him, hard, and he shouts into the pillows, because Patrick is licking him like an ice cream cone, cock tip to asshole in one long, luxurious line, and David can’t come can’t come can’t come, his balls are squeezed tight between his legs because Patrick is fucking pulling his cock back the wrong way and it hurts and it feels so good he can’t stand it. He grabs handfuls of pillow and hair and headboard and holds on for the ride, because Patrick isn’t playing around now, Patrick is getting him there so fast that David’s head swims like crazy. He doesn’t know _where Patrick saw this_ but he suspects porn, oh God, it was probably porn, gay porn, porn between men, because this is not a thing someone has done to David since he dated Tony Gardner, it’s not a thing people usually do but Patrick is doing it, he’s doing it, he’s going from sucking the tip of David’s cock, licking him up like chocolate, then dipping his tongue into David’s ass, wide open and stretched out and waiting to be fucked.

David pounds the mattress with his fist and he can feel Patrick smile against his cheek and David hates him except that’s a lie, he doesn’t hate him, he doesn’t hate him at all, no one has ever cared enough about David’s pleasure to do this to him, no one has cared, but _Patrick cares_. Patrick loves him. He’s said so, and shown him so, is showing him now. Patrick is loving him so good, and that’s how David comes – loud and huge and messy, being loved by Patrick.

Patrick pushes into him, into the pulses of his orgasm, his ass milking Patrick’s cock uncontrollably, and the thought of it makes David come even harder, so violently that he only vaguely hears Patrick say, “Here sweetheart, I’m right here, you have me,” and David falls apart into a million tiny pieces.

Later, much later, they have giggly sex while eating pizza in their jammies, and David’s still so wet he just sinks right on him, and Patrick gazes up at him like he hung the moon and David feeds him a bite of pizza and says, “You’re such a dork,” and Patrick grins his silly grin and says, “Oh _Patrick_ , thank you for making me come so hard I got come in my hair,” and David plays dirty and tickles him until Patrick’s crying from laughter and they only almost fall off the couch once.

Much later than that, when they’re finally tucked into Patrick’s bed, under his soft blankets and cool sheets, all wrapped up together and cozy like socks in a drawer, Patrick murmurs into his cheek, “I’m so lucky I found you,” and David whispers back, “I love you,” like it isn’t the first time he’s said it unprompted, without the ‘too’ at the end. He’s an idiot, he realizes, because it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr @ladyflowdi


End file.
